Working Class Hero
by Onigami Nanashi
Summary: Gen fic.  Deals largely with the events of September 11 and the fallout on some of our Marines on Atlantis.  Small character death, spoilers for season 1.  I don't know how our military would have reacted this is just my take on it for a couple character.


**Thanks to possiblycrazee for the beta and the poking! As I said before, I don't know exactly how everyone would have reacted to 9/11 nor am I claiming to know. These are my fictional characters, except those recognizable from the series.**

Atlantis watched as person after person emerged from the astria porta, some carrying odd mechanics and some carrying unknown shapes of metal. All looked up in wonder, first at the antechamber, then later, as they explored the city, at the spires.

The city sensed admiration, as was usual with all individuals, but also a sense of dread and fear from a good number. Atlantis didn't understand the new individuals, who were so like it's previous inhabitants, and yet so different and some so scared of the city they cried at night. She tried to help, dimming the lights, giving them a calming quality, but they were too hurt. All her efforts went unnoticed.

As the new arrivals became accustomed to the vistas they accepted these views as daily life, little sparks of hope flared. The nights still held horrors too awful for words, but the days… the days were good.

"Hey, you. You're… Stackhouse, right?" John stopped one of the young Marines in the dining hall.

"Yessir." He stood at attention, holding his food tray in front of him.

"And you're Markham." The Air Force commander chewed slowly, eyeing both of the men at attention in front of him. "You guys have been here a while, right?"

"Yessir." Markham and Stackhouse responded immediately.

"You know, you don't have to say 'yessir' after everything I say."

"Yessir."

John rolled his eyes. "Oookay. Anyway. Have a seat. I have a couple of questions." The two young Marines sat across from the Major. "You two seem to know a lot about the others in your unit…"

The two men nodded warily, picking at their food.

"So. Can either of you please, please, please tell me why I'm having to reschedule half of the teams from patrolling in the east sector."

Adam Stackhouse jerked up to look at the other man. "Sir… I'm not sure it's my liberty to say. A lot of those reasons are personal."

"I think I have a right to know if half of my men are afraid of heights or something." Sheppard lay his fork down and eyed the two. "Don't make me order you to tell me why I have to keep half the patrol units out of the spires."

The blonde haired man sighed. "Sir… If I may ask, where were you on 9/11?"

"I was en route to Afghanistan. Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Half of the men here were in or on or deployed to the Towers when they fell, and they stayed for weeks cleaning up and doing rescue and living in hell. The spires remind them too much of the Twin Towers."

"They don't like it. Hell, _I_ don't like it." Jamie Markham added, shrugging slightly. "But it's what you do."

"So you're telling me that half my men worked Ground Zero?" John asked, voice rising with every word. And they asked not to patrol there because it makes them nervous?!"

"Actually, sir, that was my idea- to have them request other patrol assignments. I figured nervous patrols made for a lot more shootings. And therefore, a lot more paperwork."

"Right. Right." John dropped his head into his hands. "Thanks Markham. Next time, just let me know. I'm not that much of a military hardass," he said, voice muffled.

"Yessir."

Three weeks later, John write the first of many condolence letters for Jamie Markham's family.

Too many condolence letters later, he and Elizabeth boarded the Daedalus to journey to Earth. John lounged in the mess hall, taking advantage of the quiet and trying not to think.

"Sheppard. John. I need you to look at these files."

The Major groaned and dropped his head onto the mess hall table. "I'm going crazy here, but not that crazy."

"No. You need you to look at those files. They're the short list of recommendations for new additions to your teams."

"New recruits, huh?" John lifted his head and rested his chin on the table as he spoke. "I guess I can look at those files."

"Don't strain yourself." Weir said dryly. "General O'Neill wants your list in three days so he can have them ready to go by the time we get there."

"Three days. Right."

John handed the list over to the Daedalus' communication's officer and disappeared for the next day.

"John! General O'Neill's on the line. He wants to speak to you about your recommendations of military personnel." Elizabeth Weir caught up to John in a corridor.

"Hey, I made that list legible and everything." John frowned slightly. "Did he say what he wanted to talk to me about?"

"No, just that he wanted to speak to you ASAP."

"Alright. Thanks Elizabeth." John trotted down to the bridge and opened the line to O'Neill's office.

"General, it's John Sheppard. What can I do for you today?"

"Major, I have the results from the military psychiatrist about the men you shortlisted. She agrees with most of your choices, except for four."

"Which four?"

"Major Evan Lorne, Lieutenant Marc Johannson, Captain Tory Daniels, and Sergeant Alejandro Hernandez."

"Why?"

"She's saying they're mentally unfit for this duty." O'Neill glanced to the side. "Look, I've gotta run. Just thought you should know. O'Neill out."

John opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. "Yes, sir." He glanced at the comm. officer. "Could you connect me to the psychiatrist in charge of the SGC?"

The officer nodded and did so, opening a comm. channel.

"This is Dr. Erica Hollows, to whom am I speaking, and how can I help you today?"

"This is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. I was wondering if you could give me a little more explanation as to why some of the men I had chosen for this mission were denied at the last minute. They'd already made it through the preliminary evaluations with no problems."

"There were some worrying signs in the interviews I'd conducted with them. Lieutenant Johannson and Sergeant Hernandez displayed certain traits that, if thrust into a new situation with no way out, would prove detrimental to their mental health."

"What about Major Lorne?"

"Major Lorne- well, to reveal any of the reasons I want to keep him earthside would be to violate doctor/patient confidentially."

"Tory Daniels."

"He's testy and irritating and would be a bad influence on the other members of the expedition."

"Miss," John tried a charming smile, "Rodney is testy and irritating and a bad influence on the other members of the expedition. Looking at all these men's folders, it doesn't seem to me that there's any legit reason to keep them earthside."

"Dr. Rodney McKay, though flawed, is one of the most important contributing members of the Atlantis expedition."

"Okay, ma'am." John leaned forward, all charm gone. "These are the men I want on my team. Tell me exactly why- in their files or their transcripts- they shouldn't go."

Lips thin, the woman pushed aside the four folders and drew one more from her desk. "Sheppard, John Matthew. Parents obviously religions, subject too self-centered. Saw combat in Afghanistan, transferred to the SGC- ooh. How interesting. Subject was added last minute to the Atlantis detail. I wonder how much of a fuss they'd put up if you were found mentally unfit for command."

John seethed quietly as the psychiatrist read judgment on the men he was considering adding to his team and dismissed himself with a sharp salute any of his commanding officers would have found sarcastic and subordinate. Erica Hollows found it satisfactory and the Major nodded a salute to the comm. officer and left to track down Rodney.

"Rodney. I need you to hack some files for me." John announced at the scientist's door.

"Wha- John, hack?" Rodney spluttered.

"Yes, Rodney, hack." John said patiently. "I need the medical and psychological files for my new recruits."

"Ookay. Dare I ask why?"

"No."

"Right. Okay." Rodney turned to leave and began tapping at a computer. "Uhh… John? Aren't you going to… y'know… leave? It's what most people do when the conversation is over."

"Rodney, with you, is a conversation ever over? Anyway, I need the files."

"Well, I'm sure they're for a matter of national security, but I happen to be a busy busy man."

"Well, man is questionable." John quipped, dodging both the glare and the multitude of pens. "Look, Rodney, I need those files. These men are scheduled to come to Atlantis- or they were until some power-hungry harpy decided to declare them, and me, possibly mentally unfit for duty. I need those files."

"You are mentally incompetent for duty." Rodney muttered. "There, you ungrateful Jarhead. The files are in your inbox. Now go. RADEK! I need that half-witted, butterfingered assistant dude of yours!"

John snorted. "Not a Jarhead, Rodney," and escaped the lab, booting up his laptop and settling down to read the illicit material.

"Please state your name and rank for the record."

"Lieutenant Marc Johannsen, USMC."

"Okay, Lieutenant, think of this as a low-key conversation between friends."

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. "Yes ma'am."

"Now Lieutenant Johannsen, may I call you Marc?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Okay Marc. Now, though this is just like a conversation between friends I want you to know that this is a time for me to be able to learn about you and give this knowledge to higher authorities for possibly the chance of a lifetime."

"Yes, ma'am."

The psychiatrist arched an eyebrow. "Do you say anything other than 'yes ma'am'?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Very well. Your file says you've been away from home in various bases and combat zones. Is there a certain reason you've been gone so long?"

"Not much of a home to go to ma'am. I'm a bastard child with a drunk of a mother. It's safer to be in the military."

"Your records also show you were stationed in New York state on September 11th, during the attack on the World Trade Center."

"Yes ma'am, I was." Marc lifted his chin slightly. "I stayed at Ground Zero for almost two weeks. We lost a lot of people that day."

"In all of your efforts, did you rescue any survivors? Or was all you did recovery work?"

"Ma'am, from my beginning, there were no survivors to be rescued. It was pretty much a clear-cut walk out or be mourned."

"But did you find any survivors?" Erica Hollows enunciated each word.

"Ma'am, since this is a conversation… uh, between friends and all, can I ask what this has to do with my mental state right now?"

"Um, nothing. You're right." The woman seemed to physically gather herself. "I apologize."

John frowned as the track of the transcripted conversation made an abrupt turn back onto relevant topics. Erica enquired about Marc's home life and expectations with the Marines, and the Major learned more about the Lieutenant's home life than he wanted.

The five other men's folders contained much of the same. Different family stories, different backgrounds, but always a story about September 11th.

Evan Lorne refused to stand up to the woman and John read through the young man's file plotting to let Rodney loose with the psychiatrist.

"Please state your name and rank for the record."

"Major Evan Lorne."

"Okay, Evan- do you go by Evan, by the way? Or is there something else you'd like to go by?"

"Um, my friends call me Lorne. My mom calls me Evan."

"Lorne… that doesn't seem like something very personal for your friends to be calling you. I know if my friends called me by my last name, I wouldn't consider them very good friends." Erica leaned forward and studied the young man. "You seem nervous. There's no reason to be nervous here. I consider myself your friend, but I don't think I can call you by your last name. May I call you Evan?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"Okay Evan. I'm here, both as a friend, and to ask you a couple of invasive questions about you that I'm going to send to the higher-ups so that they can make an informed decision."

"If I may ask a question ma'am?"

Erica laughed lightly. "It seems you already did Evan, but you may ask another. And please feel free to call me Erica."

The young man nodded slightly and folded his hands in his lap. "An informed decision about what?"

"At this point, I'm not allowed to say, but if you pass, which I have no doubt you will, you'll be in for the opportunity of a lifetime. Now, Evan, I see in your file that you haven't been in combat."

Lorne nodded again, eyes on the shrink, but focused somewhere near her left ear.

"I also see you were on a layover, not military related, in NY on 9-11. I also have reports of your stripping naked in the middle of JFK and changing into your camouflage uniform then hitching a ride on the back of a firetruck when the first plane hit." Erica regarded Lorne as he squirmed slightly in his seat.

"I didn't strip naked," he explained, blushing. "I had my skivvies on. I wanted to change out of my civvies before going to see the damage."

"Did you know there would be damage? Were you military told about what would happen?"

"Ma'am, you hear a passenger jet just flew into the WTC, you know it will be bad. There was no foreknowledge involved."

"You brought people out of the towers before they came down?"

"I just went up with a couple of other guys ma'am. We started going floor by floor in the second tower evacuating people and were on the third floor when the second plane hit. We ran back to the lobby and began just getting people away from the building. It was a damn good thing, too, excusing the language. The first tower came down…"

"Even after the Towers came down, did you ever physically pull anyone out of the wreckage? Were there any survivors?"

"Ma'am, there may have been survivors, and we tried our best to get everyone out, but with the nature of the beast and everything, there were just no survivors to pull out. Everyone got the rare survivor, and that cheered everyone up. But I wasn't the hero of the day saving everyone from being buried alive." He smiled, a little self-deprecatingly. "There weren't enough people to save for everyone to be a hero."

"But there were heroes." Erica hissed. "There were real heroes who pulled survivors out of the wreckage against all odds."

"There were true heroes." Lorne agreed readily. "I just wasn't one of them."

"More's the shame, isn't there."

"There's no shame in not being a hero of that tragedy. I'm okay with that."

John blinked as Erica Hollows abruptly cut the session short with a few words about needing to see another appointmentee.

"The first one fought back, the second one never backed down but she went after them hard for their involvement on 9-11." John mused to Johnny Cash. "Wonder why."

"Rodney!" The Major stood in the entryway to the lab, wary of the smoke floating in the air and small bits of metal lying on the floor. "The hell are you doing in here?"

"Nothing you'd understand, MENSA mind or no. Just a minute. RADEK!! Where is that feeble-minded club-footed dimwit assistant of yours?! I need him to come pick up this mess!" Rodney yelled back into the lab, stepping over the destroyed bits and pieces.

"Like I know. I am not her babysitter. Rodney, pick up your own damn mess." Radek trailed off into irritated Czech as he exited the lab, nose buried in a computer screen.

"What do you want?" Rodney asked, turning most of his attention to John. "As much fun as I had hacking into those military files for you, I am, as I said, a busy busy man and do not have time to entertain you."

"Look, Rodney, one more file, one more favor. You'll have fun with this one, I promise." John said placatingly.

"Well, get on with it. I have to exercise my brain past the limits that ten of yours could never attain."

"One more file. Erica Hollows. She's a military."

"John. Wait… Let me use little words. Rodney busy man. No time to do John's idiot work." Rodney said slowly.

"Rodney do John's idiot work for coffee?" John asked back, just as slowly.

Rodney huffed. "Oh, fine."

John grinned. "She's a shrink." He sing-songed.

"Oh, really? Well, why didn't you say so before?"

John shrugged. "Because."

"Great. Just great. So we're back to the monosyllabic Neanderthal answers. I would have expected that from one of the Jarhead grunts, not a MENSA eligible half-Neanderthal like yourself."

"Actually 'because' is two syllables. But that's beside the point." John said over his shoulder, leaving the lab. "Erica Hollows. I need her file in my inbox before I get back to my quarters. I know you have it in you." He ran off down the hall, slowing to a leisurely walk after turning a corner.

"Hey! Jarhead! I know you're not running anymore!" Rodney's voice slammed off the walls and careened down the hall. "There's a virus attached to that email that's programmed to decimate your hard drive if you don't get your military-toned ass back to your room."

"You're a bastard." John called back before picking up his pace.

The subject of Rodney's email was blank when John flung himself at his laptop, and the body of the email read: "Hahaha, sucker. You'd do anything to save your porn. Also, my parents were happily married when I was conceived."

The Major snorted as the attachment of Erica Hollow's file blinked placidly. He printed it to read later, and pulled the next file out of the stack.

"Please state your name and rank for the record."

"Captain Tory Daniels."

"Captain Daniels, my name is Erica Hollows. As you may or may not know, I'm a psychiatrist with the military. I'm here to ask you a few questions to determine your mental status for consideration in a top secret, very important mission."

"And what would a woman like you know about missions?" Tory asked, looking Erica up and down with a contemptuous leer.

"To be honest, Tory, not much. Which is why my findings will be passed along to your commanding officers and superiors."

"Woman- ma'am." Tory said with exaggerated respect. "I may have commanding officers, but I definitely don't have superiors." He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest.

"Very well," Erica said slowly. "I'm going to start with the questions now."

"Okay."

"How long have you been a Marine?"

"Seven years."

"And how old are you now Tory?"

"Ain't that in my file or somethin'?" Tory scowled.

"Humor me. Please."

"I'm 24."

"So you've been in the Marines since you were 18."

"The woman can add." Tory applauded mockingly.

"Have you been in combat?"

The clapping stopped. "Yes."

"What was your involvement in September 11th?"

"The hell do you wanna know that for?"

"Just answer the question." Erica sat forward, pen poised.

"I saw it happen. On the news. Me and a bunch of buddies drove up from Florida. Took a big military convoy and drove straight there. We got there in time to start the recovery drive. Happy now?" He shut his mouth and scowled.

"Not particularly. I'd like to know more-"

"No." Tory stood and stalked out of the office.

John laughed. "I shouldn't have liked that as much as I did, but I'm really starting to dislike the shrink. And it wasn't even an immediate dislike."

He glanced up, but Johnny Cash made no reply. He glared at the poster. "Man, why do I insist on bringing you again? You're no help whatsoever."

He pulled the last file off the desk and hefted his feet up to replace the papers.

"For the record, please state your name and rank."

"Sergeant Alejandro Hernandez."

"Sergeant Hernandez, my name is Erica Hollows. I'm here to assess your mental status with regards to assigning you to a new post. I'll just have a few questions for you and then we can be on our ways."

The young man nodded curtly. "Alright."

"I've just been going over your file here, and there's a lot in here that I think would make you an excellent candidate for this program, but there's also an awful lot that frankly worries me."

Alejandro said nothing, but tension grew in his shoulders and face.

"It says in your file that you were injured in the Pentagon on September 11th." Erica cocked her head to the side and studied Alejandro.

"I was, but I've passed all my physicals since then."

"What were the nature of the injuries you sustained on September 11th, and where were you?"

"I was at the Pentagon, ma'am," Alejandro said, report-brusque. "Part of the ceiling collapsed on my leg and the surgeons worked a miracle to save it. All the major bones are metal, but it still works."

"And why were you at the Pentagon?" Erica asked.

"To discuss a new posting with my CO."

"A posing to where?"

"I can't say ma'am. He was killed in the attack and I was out of commission for ten months. It would have been kind of cruel to come to me and say 'oh, by the way, you were going to…'." He trailed off and glanced at Erica who studied his file.

He cleared his throat softly and she glanced up quickly. "Oh. I'm sorry. You may go. That's all I need."

The Hispanic man frowned slightly but saluted and walked out, barely a trace of a limp in his stride.

John frowned. "Well that was odd."

He tugged Erica's folder from his desk and begun to read. Quickly finishing the file, he grabbed the entire stack of papers and trotted off to Elizabeth's temporary office.

"Four of my men." He announced without preamble, dropping the files on Weir's desk.

"Why, hello John. Good to hear you're doing well. I'm fine, thanks for asking. What can I do for you today? Oh, you're having problems with some of your men? How can I help you?" The expedition leader folded her hands on her desk and looked expectantly at John.

He pointed at the folders and repeated, "Four men. They've been denied from joining the expedition."

"Okay. Why are they being denied?"

"On the basis of the results from their psychological exams. They all had the same shrink do the exam, and they're all being denied for the same reason."

"Have you talked to the psychiatrist yet about this?" Elizabeth asked dryly.

"Honestly, right now, I don't have the time or the resources to divert to this power struggle for four of my men. I need them, I get them, end of story." John paced in Elizabeth's temporary office.

"If she's denying them based on their psych exam, there has to be a good reason." Elizabeth pointed out.

"A good reason my ass." He glared at the folders. "There is no good reason for her to deny these men. There's not even a bad reason."

"John, be reasonable. It's only four men."

"These four men are half of the men I picked out personally."

"Oh, so it's personal then." Kate Heightmeyer remarked from the doorway.

John whirled around. "It is not personal." He informed the new woman. "What is she doing here?!" He hissed at Weir.

"I called her here to look at the folders."

"How did you get her here so fast? I was talking to you the entire time."

Weir hefted the personal computer she was rarely seen without. "Email. She's in the room next door. Now, if there really is a reason these men were denied, Kate will find it." Weir looked serenely between the two.

"And if there is no reason they were denied, she'll find that too." John interjected, glaring back.

"I will find anything if there's something to be found." Kate stepped forward. "I do need the files, however." She gestured at John, and the stack of papers still on his lap.

"Oh. Right." He handed her the papers and she raised an eyebrow.

"Are these the files General O'Neill gave you?"

John shrugged. "Maybe."

"John, these are not military files. These are directly from the psychiatric department."

The major shrugged again. "I have no idea why that would be."

Kate smiled condescendingly at the man and left with the files.

John stared at Elizabeth and opened his mouth.

"Don't say it." She warned. "No go. I have work to do."

John stalked through the Daedalus to Rodney's temporary lab. He flung himself into a chair and winced as he pulled a motherboard from under his ass. He looked around guiltily for Rodney and tossed the computer piece onto a nearby table.

The string of insults preceeded the scientist and John raised an eyebrow. Those were new.

"…lard fingered, shit-for-brains, mother fu-"

"Rodney." John interjected mildly. "Language. Please. There are children around."

"Wh- There are not." Rodney said indignantly. Then his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here? Did you break something?"

"What? Me? Rodney… I'm hurt."

Rodney snorted. "Please. You're a Neanderthal throwback Jarhead. You don't have feelings."

John put a hand over his heart. "Awww… Rodney. It hurts you don't believe in me."

The Canadian rolled his eyes. "You're so emotionally vapid. What are you doing here?"

"I hate shrinks." John declared.

"I'm so glad to know that. But, seriously. You came up here just to tell me that?" Rodney caught sight of the slightly smashed computer equipment. "You bastard. You sat on my motherboard." He clutched the equipment to his chest and scowled at the major.

"Wait. What's spawning this sudden hatred of shrinks? I thought that was my job."

"Not everything is your job Rodney."

The shorter man flipped a hand irritatedly. "Never send an incompetent to do a scientist's job."

"Speaking of incompetents, this shrink is denying some of the men I want to bring over solely on the basis of their involvement on 9-11."

Rodney stopped short from trying to repair the motherboard. "My first response to that is something extremely politically incorrect, so I'll just wait for you to continue."

John blinked. "Then why didn't you just wait for me to continue?"

"Because that would defeat the purpose. Now hurry up and finish before I get bored."

John quickly explained the situation, ending with, "it all comes back to one thing, Rodney... all these men served in NYC on 9/11. And they all went to this one shrink, Erica Hollows. I have other men on the teams in the city and hadn't had a problem with their previous service areas, until these men and this shrink."

"Hm. Is there any reason why that would be?" Rodney latched onto the source of the problem immediately. "That was her folder I hacked for you, was it not?"

"Yeaah." John admitted sheepishly. "But it helped. I think I know why. Now I just have to convince Heightmeyer and Elizabeth."

"Convince her of what?"

"Her file says she fell in love with one of her patients. They were engaged to be married near the end of October. He died in the Towers. She seemed to be coping well, according to other psychologists, but she'd be able to fool them more easily than anyone else."

"You think she's holding a grudge against the military who worked in the Towers on 9-11?" Rodney arched an eyebrow.

"Not just the Towers. I got one guy who worked the Pentagon. So, basically, any military who was anywhere near the attacks. It looks like she's got some sort of grudge, or conspiracy theory going."

"So now you've got to try and convince everyone else of what you already know." Rodney snorted. "That sounds familiar."

John grinned wryly. "Thanks for the support."

"Anytime."

A couple of days later found John meeting again with the two women. The major paced the office impatiently as Kate Heightmeyer began to report her findings.

"As …odd as it is, I agree with John and his assessment of the situation. I could find no legitimate reason in the men's files and the transcripts of their interviews that would cause me to believe they should be cut from the assignment."

John grinned triumphantly.

Elizabeth glanced at the man. "Please. Don't contain your enthusiasm. It makes the rest of us uncomfortable."

"I am going to recommend that the four men are assigned to Atlantis and that Dr. Hollows is referred for treatment and possibly disciplinary action. I've already informed General O'Neill and he is making the necessary arrangements. You'll have all your men ready to go when you reach Earth." Kate nodded at both the other occupants of the room and made her exit.

"Don't say it." Weir raised an eyebrow.

John tried to look innocent. "I was only going to say 'thank you'. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to finish the paperwork that I was supposed to have been doing when we left Atlantis."

Paperwork barely finished, John skidded down the boarding ramp to the Daedauls and stumbled to a halt beside General O'Neill.

"Sir."

"Sheppard. The Daedalus is taking off in two hours."

"Yes sir."

"Okay, I think I understand the Stargate program, but how the hell are we getting to this Atlantis place?" Tory Daniels waved a fork in a vaguely circular direction.

"They explained it. In the briefing." Alejandro Hernandez poked at the green Jello. "Spaceship."

"See, that's what I don't get." Tory retorted. "Where the fuck did we get a spaceship?"

"Who cares? We're going to another goddamned galaxy." Marc Johannsen interjected. "Do you think everyone going got such short notice?"

"Major." The three men scrambled to their feet and stood at attention as a fourth man joined the table.

"Take it easy guys. The way I hear, Atlantis is a lot more relaxed on décor than the bases are here. I also hear we leave in two hours."

"Two hours until we leave for another fuckin' galaxy. Pardon the language sir." Alejandro added quickly.

"No 'sir'. I'm Evan Lorne. Call me Lorne."

"Alejandro Hernandez. Alex."

"Tory Daniels."

"Marc Johannsen. Nice to meet you all."

"So, serious. We're about to board a spaceship. Heading to another galaxy. Does anyone else not think this is the weirdest thing ever?"

"Sir." Lorne was first on his feet, followed closely by the other men.

John flapped a hand at the men. "Sit down, finish your lunch. It's the last Earth food you'll have in a while. I just wanted to let you know we're taking off in an hour. You'll board in 30 minutes."

"Thank you sir." Lorne retook his seat as John walked off.

The four men spent the weeks' time to Atlantis discussing theories and possibilities and all the aspects of their new life they could think of.

Lorne was the last of the new recruits to disembark, overseeing the recruits under his command.

Two scientists and one soldier remained on the West Pier as the Major walked off the Daedalus for his first look at Atlantis. He turned, with wide eyes, to look over to the horizon, and down at the ocean, and finally to Atlantis proper.

Stackhouse turned from talking with the scientists and saw the rapid paling of the 2IC's face, watched as he froze mid-step, and knew. He'd done the same thing himself. Watched as Markham, and recently, Daniels, Hernandez and Johannsen had done it too.

It was the same reaction anyone who'd seen the Towers fall had to seeing the spires in the Eastern quadrant. Stackhouse drew himself up; the others were gone, out in the defense of Atlantis. But he could offer his CO this much.

He moved up alongside Lorne, "Sir?" and waited until the 2IC's too-pale face turned to him, "I know it's not okay, sir, and it probably won't ever be okay… but…" he shrugged helplessly, the right words getting lost between his mouth and his brain.

But the grateful understanding in Lorne's eyes as he took an unsteady breath made Stackhouse wonder if maybe he'd found the right words after all.

The city watched still, always watched, and agreed with the sentiment of the young man. What she had learned about these people in the months they had inhabited her halls, was that they took any drop of hope, and stored it, to add more and more drops until the hope was as much as the Lantean sea.


End file.
